


Titan Logic

by zeteram



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, It's gay if you squint, The Dawning (Destiny), cookies for Osiris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22036147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeteram/pseuds/zeteram
Summary: "Osiris...my brother.  Tell him, when he is ready to talk, I am here."Osiris is ready to talk.  Spoilers through current content and the Lore book "The Pigeon and the Phoenix".
Relationships: Osiris & Saint-14 (Destiny)
Kudos: 124





	Titan Logic

**Author's Note:**

> So this probably won't actually happen in the Dawning given that "The Pigeon and the Phoenix" isn't accessible yet, but I'm impatient, and also it is a crime that you can't deliver cookies to Osiris. Inspired by Saint-14's idle dialogue. Some of the dialogue is ripped from the Lore book.

The Guardian fell silent, and Osiris watched him carefully. The Sundial runs were performing above expectations, even set as cautiously high as his experience with this particular Guardian had led him to anticipate. He wasn’t ready to relax his guard—Sagira would say, rightly, that he would never truly relax his guard—but for the first time in weeks, he was cautiously optimistic. 

It was undone with the Guardian’s next words. Of course it was. 

“I talked to Saint-14 before I came here,” the Hunter said, voice carefully neutral. “He’s settling in pretty well, for someone who’s been gone as long as he has. Happy to see the birds again, you know? And the stars.” 

Saint. Osiris’s greatest failure, and yet, miraculously, returned to them. No. Returned to the Tower. To the Guardians, to the Light, to the world. Not to him. Of course he’d never want to come to Mercury again, after escaping the Forest. Osiris had talked to Sagira about it, shortly after Saint had punched his way through the Forest’s final barrier and stepped foot into the real world for the first time in centuries. Osiris had watched from the shadows, too overcome with emotion to step forward until Saint had left shortly after. 

He bitterly regretted not stepping forward, but even he knew better than to try to change something that small about the past. 

“How is he?” Osiris asked, almost reluctantly. If the answer was _broken_ , he really didn’t want to know, but he had to ask.

The Hunter paused, tilting his helmet to one side to consider. “Exactly the same as I always thought he would be,” he said thoughtfully, “only also Russian.”

Osiris blinked, as it had never occurred to him that the legends and records would leave that out. But then, was it really worth mentioning when everyone who knew Saint already knew that about him?

The guardian was still talking. Right. Osiris snapped his attention back to the present. “He called you his brother,” the Hunter continued, voice softening. “Said when you were ready to talk, that he was there.” 

Though his frown was covered by the scarf over the lower half of his face, Osiris knew the Guardian could see his eyes narrowing. He took a steadying breath before answering. “I am exiled from the Tower,” he answered quickly, dismissively. “He knows that; it’s why he came after me in the first place.” 

Sagira, broadcasting only to Osiris from her place in his Light, said to him  _ “Not that that stopped you from visiting a few weeks ago when you asked for help with the Sundial.” _

He flicked his glance to the side to tell her to shut up and felt her assent. The Hunter crossed his arms. “No, I think he meant he’s here, like, in general.” Osiris rolled his eyes, about to tell the Hunter he knew that, but the Hunter pressed on. “And he can’t come back here because...well, you know, he doesn’t want to get stuck again. But he knows I come here ‘cause I told him about Sagira taking over my Ghost and the Red Legion and the Sundial--” 

Osiris waved his hand to cut the Guardian off before he could get to anything embarrassing, like saying they were friends. Osiris didn’t have friends. Everybody knew that. “Very well. You have delivered your message.” 

The Hunter’s posture slumped. Obviously he’d been hoping for a different answer. But then, so had Sagira, because she popped into visibility.  _ “Osiris.” _ His eyes widened. What? What had he done to deserve that tone from her? But she took no notice of him (or, more likely, took offense at his hesitation) and turned to the Guardian. “You. Tell Saint-14 we’ll met him at the Cosmodrome at dusk in three days.” 

Osiris and the Hunter both blinked, but the Hunter recovered faster. Damn those Hunter speeds! “Can’t. It’s still under quarantine because of the SIVA virus.” 

Sagira started asking what that was all about, but Osiris cut her off. Fine. If she was going to insist, he’d do it, but he’d do it his way. “Nevermind about the Cosmodrome. Tell him we’ll meet at the Tower.” He’d have to deal with Ikora glaring at him again, but—at least this time he had an invitation. 

Sagira glanced at Osiris, then the Hunter, then back at Osiris. “Three days. At dusk,” she repeated, and she couldn’t quite mask the surprise in her tone. Osiris grinned beneath his scarf. Any day he could surprise Sagira was a good day, even if he now had a looming deadline he didn’t want to examine too closely. 

The Hunter gave an informal salute, two fingers from his temple. “Got it. And Happy Dawning, by the way.” He slipped a box of cookies to Osiris and brought up his own Ghost to transmat back to his ship before Osiris could even thank him. 

He opened the box. Infinite Forest Cake. Osiris grunted and lowered his scarf so he could take a bite, then addressed Sagira after he swallowed. “Why three days?” 

Sagira made a sniffing sound. “To give you time to stew in it, of course.” He gave her an unimpressed look, and she bobbed in the air apologetically. “Because if I don’t give you time to organize your feelings, you’re just going to make things worse because you can’t decide what to say to him.” He winced slightly. “And I can start up my game of Go with Ophiuchus while you’re talking,” she added quickly, and he exhaled in relief. It would be hard enough just with the two of them, and Sagira had a way of...complicating matters. 

He offered her a cookie in a gesture of apology and she chuckled. 

\---- 

Unmistakable. There in the hangar was Saint-14's Gray Pigeon, parked over an area where Saint had set up a receiving area for himself. Was that one of the rugs from Osiris’ own cult—yes, yes it was. He snorted, and it did help relieve some of the tension in his shoulders. His eyes fell on the candles, the icons, the statuettes, and, after steeling himself, the tall and proud figure with its signature mohawk helmet crouching down to throw seeds to the pigeons who had gathered there. 

Saint’s Ghost, a quiet but undeniably resilient little Light named Geppetto, turned to him first. Osiris managed to repress images of that shell battered and broken as his Hunter friend had described. (Ally, his Hunter ally. He didn’t have friends.) “Greetings, Brother Osiris.” At that, Saint-14 stood up rapidly and his helmet fixed its gaze unflinchingly on the approaching Warlock. “Is Sagira with you?” Geppetto continued. 

“Hello, Geppetto,” Osiris said, scarf still up to conceal the smile. “Sagira visits Ikora.” He sat on the gangway of the Gray Pigeon and ran his fingers through one of the ribbons. He’d never asked Saint about the ribbons, but they were as much a part of him as that helmet. 

“Osiris?” Saint-14 sounded uncertain, but even that sound was enough to make Osiris close his eyes and be taken back to a hundred councils and battles and quieter moments. “I wondered if this meeting would be with one of your projections.” 

“I would not,” Osiris stood up and clasped Saint’s shoulder to show his solidity. He tried not to sound too wounded, but—well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t considered it, if only to get instantly shot down by Sagira. But touching Saint was a mistake. The Titan took it as an invitation, and for a flash Osiris wondered if he was going to get the first traditional Titan greeting of a punch in the face before he was enveloped in Saint-14's massive arms with a bear hug (the second traditional Titan greeting). 

“You are here,” Saint said, sounding satisfied, and he released Osiris for the most part, keeping a strong grip on one forearm, as if determined not to let him vanish. Osiris was slightly miffed, as this prevented him from crossing his arms, but only slightly. An inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Sagira noted that it was just as good to have a solid confirmation that Saint was really here himself. 

“A Guardian told me where to find you,” he admitted, and gestured around at the setup. “Quite a shrine you have here. Are you dying?” 

Saint-14 laughed and clapped Osiris on the shoulder again with his free hand. “It is good to see you again, Brother.”

With that, Osiris relaxed even more, and he pulled down his scarf to show Saint his smile. “It's good to see you again, too.” He paused slightly, not sure if he was allowed to call Saint  _ brother _ or even  _ friend _ , not after such a long and fruitless separation; Saint hadn't, but then, nobody was like Saint-14. His smile faded and he glanced around, unsure about so many others around after so long in solitude on Mercury. He understood immediately why Saint had chosen this place, exactly for that bustling activity, but that didn't make Osiris any more comfortable with it. Solitude as a choice was different than solitude through imprisonment. “Do you think we might go somewhere we could talk?”

Saint-14 cocked his head to the side, and Osiris was half dreading that he'd say 'we can talk here'. But the Titan nodded and finally let go of Osiris's arm so he could gesture instead. “Come. They have given me a place to rest. Can you imagine it?”

Of course Osiris could imagine it—he'd be more surprised if they hadn't pushed some kind of residence on their legendary hero—but he understood what Saint was getting at. In the Forest, rest was an illusion at best and a trap at worst, with the vast majority of in-between being simply nonexistent. Yes, he'd found ways to section off small branches of the Forest for uninterrupted simulations, but...Saint hadn't. He'd fought, and fought, and fought, until the Vex bodies were piled up enormously and they'd spent centuries building a Mind with the sole purpose of draining his Light.

It had succeeded, and then it hadn't. Osiris felt responsible for both.

Saint-14 closed the door to his quarters behind them. It was a spacious room, and already covered in everything from the ubiquitous lavender ribbons to stacks of familiar cookie boxes to handmade crafts from the marketplace and the occasional drawing in a child's hand. “You've only been here a few weeks,” Osiris said, half complaint and half impressed despite himself. “Where did all of this come from?”

He could hear the amusement in Saint's reply as the Titan headed to the kitchen to dispense some hot water for tea; Osiris recognized the smell of a blend Ikora had gifted to him more than once after they'd started talking again. “Do you know the nice old lady with the bakery oven?” Osiris didn’t, but he let Saint continue talking without interruption. “She finds a recipe for these ribbon cookies and she tells the Guardians, bring these to Saint-14 because he is a nice young man. And so I give the Guardians some weapons or pieces of armor in return, and I have enough cookies to last until next Dawning, if the birds do not eat them all first.”

Osiris took the mug handed to him and set it on the table, though he remained standing. “You always did like the birds.” Inane. Surely he had something more intelligent to say.

“And yet you are the one who wears their feathers, Brother.” Saint reached over to tap Osiris's mantle and Osiris crossed his arms, fully aware that doing so made the feathery robe puff out as if he were a real bird that was upset.

“That isn't why—” He started to object, but Saint's laugh cut him off and once again he was enveloped in a Titan hug. It worked. Instead of being standoffish, Osiris felt himself relaxing into the grip. Nobody else dared to be this friendly with him. The Mad Warlock, the Prophet, the Exile—people lived in awe of him. They didn't treat him like a person anymore.

“I know,” Saint admitted. “It is symbolism. Very important to you. But maybe it is also symbol that you did not forget your friend Saint when he was looking for you?”

And there it was: a crack in his facade. Osiris was suddenly glad that his face was squished up against Saint's chestplate and out of sight. He took two breaths before he'd calmed himself enough to speak without his voice cracking, and to reassure Saint his arms came slowly up to embrace him in return.

“No. I never forgot you. I looked. I sent Echo after Echo to find you, but they either found nothing or never returned. I failed.” He took another breath, closing his eyes against the warm plasteel-and-ribbons of Saint's armor. “I failed you. I am so sorry.”

One of Saint-14's arms loosened, and Osiris expected that warmth to be gone. But Saint didn't pull away. He touched Osiris's chin with his free hand and nudged it up so they could meet eyes, as much as his helmet would allow. “My Brother.” Osiris resisted the urge to look down, though it was far more difficult to meet that gaze, even though a helmet, than parsing a new simulation seed or tracking a Mind through the corridors of Time. “I am here, yes?”

“Yes,” Osiris agreed, sounding guilty.

“And because of your Sundial, I am here?”

“Yes,” he agreed, because while Warlock logic screamed that Osiris had failed and failed and had to live with it for decades, centuries—Titan logic saw what was here and now, and Titan logic said—

“Then you succeeded. I do not forgive you because there is nothing to forgive between us.”

Sometimes you had to bow to Titan logic, and Osiris nodded, defeated. Saint squeezed his shoulder once more and let him go. “Good. Now let us drink tea, and you can tell me what you have been doing while the City grew without us.” And like that, he was free. Osiris felt like he was floating, unmoored, with the heavy weight of guilt finally letting go.

It wasn't going to be that easy to forgive himself, Osiris knew. But you had to start somewhere, and a sitting room full of fresh-baked cookies and tea and a friend you thought was lost forever was a damn good place to start.

****  
  



End file.
